


a little bit of love tonight

by plinys



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: 5 Times, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: But there’s something about the way Helena looks in the dim alleyway lighting, her lips are kiss swollen, her hair a mess, eyes searching Dinah in the dark alley. Something that makes Dinah want to make bad decisions.[or: 5 times Dinah didn't realize what 'this thing' between her and Helena was, and the 1 time she finally did.]
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Comments: 21
Kudos: 254





	a little bit of love tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic was written to make one very lame joke, but I watched Birds of Prey today and hmm they gay.

1

She would like to say that she’s not sure how they got here.

That this hadn’t been building up for a while. 

Working together night after night, so many nights that Dinah really hasn’t had time to look for anyone else, to take time for herself. It’s post fight hormones or some shit, at least that’s what she tells herself, when the goons chasing them are all down for the count, lost somewhere and the next time Dinah’s doing is spinning the both of them into an alley, and pressing her body close to Helena’s up against the dirty wall in alleyway until she’s certain that there really is nobody following them anymore. 

There’s not.

No footsteps.

No shouts.

Just the feeling of Helena’s hot breath against her hand and the press of two bodies too close together.

And Dinah knows, the second she pulls her hand away, that there was only one thing that could come from this. 

It doesn’t matter who moves first, but it happens. And the only thing Dinah can think is that Helena’s lips are softer against hers than she had always assumed they would be. She tastes a little metallic and a little bit like stale soda and it’s not fucking romantic or any shit.

But Dinah has been horny for far too long and wanting this and she really doesn’t give a fuck.

Doesn’t plan to think about this at all, until Helena pulls back far too soon. 

“Hey,” Helena says, just the touch of breathlessness, before asking the last thing that Dinah would have expected to hear. “Have you ever done this before?” 

“Make out with another vigilante in a back alley after intercepting a drug shipment?” 

“No, I-”

“I mean, not since I was last in Star City, but you know,” Dinah shrugs. Moving back in to kiss Helena again. But Helena turns her head away at the last minute, so Dinah kisses her cheek instead. 

“Sex, I mean, have you done the sex before?” 

“The Sex, really Helena,” Dinah replies, pulling back. “I mean, do you really think that I’m a virgin or-”

“I guess, I just figured that I should be sure that you understood where this was going, and all that,” Helena starts, rambling a little. She’s nervous, and fuck that shouldn’t be so endearing. 

But there’s something about the way Helena looks in the dim alleyway lighting, her lips are kiss swollen, her hair a mess, eyes searching Dinah in the dark alley. Something that makes Dinah want to make bad decisions. 

Really all Dinah wants to do is kiss her again. “I mean, if either one of us was going to be a virgin, wouldn’t it be you?” 

“No? What? Why?”

“You were raised by  _ assassins _ ,” Dinah reminds her. “I just assumed it was all, fighting and learning to kill and revenge plots, not you know, time for romance.” 

“So you,” Helena stops, shakes her head, “You thought that I might be a virgin and weren’t going to ask even though you had me pressed against the wall of some dirty Gotham alley.” 

“I mean, I’ve done this in worse places.” 

Helena’s nose wrinkles. 

And okay, maybe not the time and place to have this conversation.

Not that it matters, because Helena thrusts her hips up against Dinah’s and it proves to all too suddenly be too much of a distraction to even really try to have this conversation. 

“Fuck.” 

“I’m not,” Helena says, pressing up against Dinah again. “For what it matters.”

“That’s really fucking good,” Dinah replies, “Me neither, by the way.” 

“Oh cool, great, that’s cool.” 

“You should kiss me again?” 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do that.” 

  
  


2

The next time starts with a text message. 

A text message that she sends after two beers on their rare night with nothing better to do. When the idea of watching something doesn’t sound appealing and there’s no crime out there to stop (a rare enough situation in Gotham as it is) and maybe Dinah’s just a little bit lonely.

Or some shit.

She texts Helena, some joke about having a  _ bed _ and  _ showing her a proper  _ time this time.

And she doesn’t expect it.

Doesn’t mean anything really.

Helena doesn’t even reply and Dinah is in the middle of putting on another episode of some terrible as fuck sitcom to keep herself company for the night when there’s a knock on her apartment door. 

But then she’s there, a bag with Chinese take out in one hand, wearing what looks like some expensive fucking gym clothes that Dinah can’t wait to take off of her later, complete with a gym bag and - “I was in the area, and thought you could use some company?” 

“You were in the area,” Dinah repeats, skeptical and teasing. “Helena, I live in a shit hole, there’s no way your gym is around here.”

Helena just shrugs, a little awkward, stepping inside, and already moving to make herself at home. As if she’s been here a hundred times. As if she might be here a hundred more times. 

“I was taking the long way home.”

3

There’s some excuse this time. 

That Helena’s place is closer than Dinah going back to her own or some bullshit like that. 

It’s a thin excuse, and they both do their best to ignore the look that Renee shoots their way as they disappear into the moonlight and off to wherever it is that Helena lays her head at night. 

Dinah had been imagining it, the Gotham penthouse or whatever that Helena was calling her home now that she had  _ came back from the dead  _ and reclaimed her fortune or whatever. But the neighborhood they end up in isn’t nearly as glamorous and Dinah had expected. 

It’s quaint and really fucking normal. 

And sitting on Helena’s kitchen counter as she moves around and tries to get something for Dinah’s injuries, it all feels way too fucking  _ normal  _ for whatever this is between them. 

So she busies herself looking around, taking in this part of Helena’s like. 

“Why the fuck do you have two crock pots,” Dinah asks.

Because she has to say  _ something _ , anything, to break the awkward silence that has stretched between them, even since they stepped inside Helena’s apartment (hide out or safe house or whatever this was). 

“I don’t have two crock pots.” 

Dinah turns, away from the fucking crock pots of all things, to look at her. Helena, who is still wearing her Huntress suit, has a split lip, a look of confusion knitting her brows together, and a bag of frozen peas in her hand.

The peas are offered to Dinah, and she takes them gratefully. 

“You have two crock pots,” Dinah repeats, “But you don’t have an ice pack?” 

Helena looks behind her, the confusion is still there, but it seems as if something finally clicks. “Okay first off, that’s a fucking rice cooker-”

“You have a special crock pot just for rice?”

“It’s not a crock pot,” Helena stresses, “It’s a rice cooker.” 

“It looks like a-”

“Hold the peas on your face and stop talking,” Helena says, cutting her off, and moving to help her. As if under some belief that Dinah didn’t know how to take care of herself. Normally Dinah would protest at the care, is half way to doing so, but she stops, the second Helena’s hand is on top of hers, holding her steady and guiding the peas to where the beginning of a bruise is beginning to form under Dinah’s right eye. 

She’s so close that Dinah could count Helena’s eyelashes, were she the type of person to do so. 

Instead, she says, “I don’t even own a crock pot.” 

“I’m horrified.” 

“Pretty sure that’s one of the sexiest things about me,” Dinah replies. 

This close, she doesn’t miss the way Helena’s tongue darts out to wet her split lip. Her voice is far too serious, and it shouldn’t be charming, but when Helena’s lips quirk up awkwardly and she replies - “Not knowing how to cook isn’t sexy, Dinah” - it makes Dinah’s heart beat just a little too fast in her chest.

4

“I have plans tonight, sorry baby” the words are off of Dinah’s lips before she can second guess them. 

She doesn’t have plans.

Doesn’t know why she’s coming up with an excuse. 

The girl in front of her isn’t bad to look at, pretty on the eyes, a tiny thing, looking for a good night and normally Dinah would have been quick to jump on the chance for something easy. Something with no strings attached.

But this time. 

She takes the food back to the table, the booth that is occupied with Helena and Renee and maps of their next plan. Because even vigilantes needed a break for nuggets and fountain soda. 

Sliding on the same side of the booth as Helena feels natural and right and Dinah pointedly doesn’t think too much about that, as they all begin dividing up the food that she had bought for them. 

For some reason Dinah can’t take her eyes off of Helena, who is still talking about the best way to get around the docks at night, all while pushing in all the buttons on the plastic soda top with a very serious expression on her face. 

When she pauses to finally take a drink, Dinah jumps on her chance, “Hey, Helena, you have plans tonight?” 

“Other than this?” 

“Yeah, after this.” 

“I was planning to patrol or something,” Helena says, her brows furrowing in a question. 

Across the table, Renee snorts an almost laugh at them, but Dinah pointedly ignores her. Focuses her attention solely on Helena, on the way she seems to be confused, playing with her straw. 

“Do you want company?”

“I’d love that.” 

  
  


5

Dinah doesn’t do this. 

Hasn’t done this is so long that for a second she isn’t even certain what she should be doing. What the proper protocol was on all of this. They didn’t even really fuck last night. Both too tired from the arms deal that they had intercepted the night before and when Dinah had invited Helena back to her place it had one hudnred percent been with the intention to fuck, but one thing had led to another and a shared shower didn’t turn as heated as she had thought it would and the next thing she knew… 

It was the next morning.

And Helena is there standing in Dinah’s tiny as fuck kitchen, trying to get her coffee pot to work.

The words  _ You’re still here  _ almost fall off her lips, but the words die in her throat when she realizes that Helena is in one of her shirts, a pair of panties, and nothing else. 

Well, there was always early morning sex as an option. 

Or afternoon sex.

After they’ve had breakfast and done the whole morning after shit and… 

“That doesn’t work,” Dinah says to announce her presence.

Anyone else might have been startled, but Helena with her trained assassin reflexes just turns around having known that Dinah was there all along. That probably shouldn’t awaken things in her, but she really didn’t get laid last night and Helena is right there, in her clothes, and it’s  _ a lot _ . 

“No rice cooker, no working coffee pot, no hot water,” Helena holds up fingers, ticking them off, but there’s a smile on her lips and it is teasing. 

Dinah doesn’t hesitate before kissing that smile off her lips. 

Just a quick chaste brief thing.

One that doesn’t have to lead to anything more. 

(And fuck, when did  _ that  _ happen?)

“There was hot water,” Dinah reminds her, “But you took too long.” 

Helena laughs. “Come on, let’s get dressed and get coffee.” 

“Or, we could not get dressed, an option?”

“Coffee first!”

And just like that she’s off, back into Dinah’s bedroom, no doubt in search of her clothing. Dinah can’t help but watch Helena as she walks past her, can’t help but admire the view.

Maybe coffee, breakfast at one of the shithole diners down the street, wouldn’t be  _ too  _ bad.

After all, there’s always afternoon sex. 

+1

The seconds Renee says the words, it’s like a fog slips over Dinah’s mind, everything blurring at once except that one word, said flippantly, so casually, without any real weight to it.

“What did you just call her?” 

“Your girlfriend,” Renee repeats. “I don’t know if the two of you were trying to keep it a secret or something, but I’m not blind, and you’re not as good at sneaking around as you two seem to think.” 

And no, she’s not.

And they haven’t been.

But maybe Dinah’s been the one, who has been understanding this wrong all along, because of all the things, all the labels she had been assigning them in her head  _ this  _ one was never the one she would have thought to use. 

She’s still sitting there, half armed, trying to process this all, when Helena shows up, answering the question that Renee had originally asked, of where she was and - “Did you know that we’re dating?” 

“We have been for the last month, but thanks for noticing.” 


End file.
